


35/3500 Fic fest - "What is one question they’ve always wanted an answer to?"

by berlynn_wohl



Series: The 35/3500 Fic Fest [5]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Autoassassinophilia, Episode: s02e07 Yakimono, Gun Kink, M/M, Masturbation, Sexual Fantasy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-26
Updated: 2016-04-26
Packaged: 2018-06-04 17:29:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,012
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6667843
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/berlynn_wohl/pseuds/berlynn_wohl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was not the first time Hannibal had seen Will raise that Sig Sauer, but it was the first time he’d been given the opportunity to look directly down the barrel...</p>
            </blockquote>





	35/3500 Fic fest - "What is one question they’ve always wanted an answer to?"

**Author's Note:**

> In the spring of 2016, I reached 3500 followers on Tumblr. And if that wasn’t a big enough thrill, I’m about to turn 35. Yikes! I decided to celebrate both of these things by writing 35 fics for my loyal readers. I mined lists of Ask Box memes from sendmesomenumbers.tumblr.com to use as prompts for each fic. 
> 
> Fics of over 1000 words (like this one!) are each posted separately on AO3; all the Hannistag fics are grouped in a single collection, and everything else under 1000 words I grouped into a second collection. Check out my series “The 35/3500 Fic Fest” to read all of them!

Though he detected Will’s aftershave as soon as he walked in the door, Hannibal continued on his way to the kitchen, acting oblivious to Will’s presence in the house, taking up a wine glass. He wanted to savor these extra moments, to dwell on the joy he felt, knowing that Will was right there lying in wait for him. Will had no hallucinatory madness to blame this time, no fevered brain. He was here entirely of his own volition, after careful consideration.  It gave Hannibal a little pleasant fluttery feeling in his belly, to know this.

Only as he opened the refrigerator did Hannibal remark aloud, “The same unfortunate aftershave.”

He turned to look at Will, illuminated by the light from the refrigerator, forced from the shadows. Will took a step forward, lifting his arm; it was not the first time Hannibal had seen Will raise that Sig Sauer, but it was the first time he’d been given the opportunity to look directly down the barrel.

“Our last kitchen conversation was interrupted by Jack Crawford. If memory serves, you were asking me if it would feel good to kill you.” There was a hint of unsteadiness in his gaze, in his grip, but Hannibal easily attributed that to a genuineness of intention. Will was honestly prepared to kill him.

“You’ve given that some thought,” Hannibal said, keeping his expression blank to hide his desperate desire to hear Will speak of it in more detail.

“You wanted me to embrace my nature, Doctor.” Will’s tone became sardonic. “I’m just following the urges I kept down for so long, cultivating them as the inspirations they are.”

Hannibal’s heart raced to hear this. His skin tingled, his knees turned to water, and his prick jumped. “You never answered my question,” he said, drawing the moment out. “How would killing me make you feel?”

“Righteous,” Will snarled, and reinforced his stance. Hannibal liked playing this game. He startled and jumped back, but recovered himself quickly. He was thankful that he had not yet removed his coat, so that the swell of his erection beneath it, pushing against his trousers, would remain a secret.

“Aren’t you curious?” he said to Will. “Why you? What does the Chesapeake Ripper want with you?”

“You tell me,” Will shot back, though he faltered slightly as he spoke, and let his arm dip.

“If I’m not the Ripper, you murder an innocent man.” After saying this, Hannibal threw Will a glance: Ah, good, there was doubt in his eyes now. “You better than anyone know what it means to be wrongly accused. You were innocent and no one saw it.”

Will was twitching. “No, I’m not innocent. You saw to that.”

Hannibal’s blood was singing, but he knew he was tempting fate. He had to bring it back to the sweet spot, with Will ready to embrace his bloodlust but not quite prepared to indulge at this particular moment. “If I am the Ripper, and you kill me, who will answer your questions? Don’t you want to know how this ends?”

Will’s eyes betrayed his sudden understanding, though he smiled ruefully to hide it. He lunged forward with the pistol. Hannibal retreated, looked away as if he were, with noble reluctance, facing his last moment of life. But he knew he was not. He knew he had found the thing that he could tempt Will with. Will’s curiosity would stay his trigger finger. An unquenchable thirst for knowledge was something Hannibal understood well.

His balls ached a little now, and he could feel the damp spot in the fabric of his clothing where he had leaked a little pre-ejaculate. Will cocked the gun, and Hannibal could swear his prick had never been so hard. His own heartbeat was positively tympanic in his ears. He closed his eyes, swallowed thickly.

Then, Will lowered the gun, and without saying another word, strode out of the kitchen. As righteous as Will might want to feel, what he wanted more was to delve into Hannibal’s mind, and that would require another approach.

When Hannibal heard the door slam, he went to the window, to watch Will walk away, get back into his car and drive off. A ragged and inadequate ending to the encounter, but that was fine; Hannibal was about to derive a modicum of satisfaction out of it anyway. He discarded his overcoat, placed it on the counter. He considered going upstairs, but he was not interested in delaying a moment longer. What Will made him feel was too intense, and after all, sometimes it felt good to indulge in an impulse.

He walked around the kitchen island and faced the sink, where he unbuttoned his jacket, then unzipped his trousers and pulled out his achingly hard cock. He gripped himself firmly, but his strokes were slow, drawing every ounce of pleasure out of the action. He replayed the scene in his mind, frame by frame, twice, then treated himself to a fantasy about how else it might have gone. Will might have pressed the muzzle of the gun to his temple. He imagined the cold steel on his skin, and his pace quickened. He put his free hand on the counter, leaned forward a little.

One day his technique might not work. One day, Will might grow tired of his words and his schemes and just pull the trigger—

Hannibal gasped as orgasm overtook him, waves of release rolling through his body. He ejaculated hard into the basin, three almost painfully intense pulses and then a little trickle over his fingers. He breathed heavily as he looked down, only now watching as he wrung the last shocks of pleasure out of himself before he became too sensitive.

With weak knees and hint of sweat on his upper lip, he washed his hands in the sink, drying them off with a hand towel before using it to tend to his spent, dripping prick, keeping the fabric of his suit pristine as he put himself away.

Now he could have that glass of wine.

 


End file.
